


A Journey To Love

by CalamityK



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aging, Flirting, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Lots of it, Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romantic Fluff, Romantic Gestures, Slow Build, growing together, hand holding, idk how slow yet, oblivious characters, they kind of realize theres more to their friendship but theyre slow on the uptake
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-27 15:32:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10028444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CalamityK/pseuds/CalamityK
Summary: For Otabek and Yuri, love is a journey.---Or, ninety-nine scenes of them falling in love and one where they finally say it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For Michaela. (You put up with too much of my shit)  
> This fic is based off of [THIS POST](http://blondetins.tumblr.com/post/125868124867/100-ways-to-say-i-love-you).
> 
> Basically I'm turning it into a ten chaptered story. With ten scenes in each chapter. All about two boys who like to laugh, skate, and fall in love.  
> POV's will likely change as will the rating.
> 
> This isn't beta'd because it's a gift for my beta. I'm giving her a break, and letting her just enjoy. So all mistakes are my own.

**_~One~_ **

_“Pull over. Let me drive for a while.”_

Yuri shouts the words over the wind, and Otabek feels them vibrate against the back of his neck.

They’re joyriding on Otabek’s motorbike; riding out past the city limits and toward the sunset.

It’s not the first time Yuri has asked to drive, but it’s the first time Otabek decides to actually slow; pulling over to the shoulder and looking back.

“Do you really want to?”

Yuri nods. “If you’ll really let me.”

Otabek finds himself nodding, and they trade places. Usually no one is allowed to drive his bike but him, and he silently hopes this isn’t a lapse in judgement. He settles in behind Yuri’s thin frame and wraps his arms around Yuri’s waist.

 _It feels odd_ , he thinks. _It feels kind of okay._

 

**_~Two~_ **

_“It reminded me of you.”_

Yuri is standing in the doorway of Otabek’s hotel room, clutching a bear in one fist that looks suspiciously like the one Otabek holds during the kiss and cry. The only difference is Yuri’s isn’t clad in a Kazakhstan jacket like Otabek’s own.

Instead, Yuri’s bear is wearing a small blue, leopard patterned hoodie, that looks like it’s made more for a toddler than a stuffed animal.

Otabek motions Yuri and his bear inside. He’d invited Yuri to stay over in his room tonight so they can relax and watch movies before tomorrow’s free skate. He’s already got the channels set up.

Yuri puts the bear down on a chair before he crosses over to settle on the bed, and Otabek can’t help but look at it again.

“What did you name it?”

He looks at Yuri in time to see a faint blush cross his cheeks.

“That’s a secret.” He mumbles.

Normally Yuri’s non-answer would bait Otabek into guessing, but this time he lets it go.

_He wouldn’t want Yuri to know the name of his bear either._

 

**_~Three~_ **

_“No, no, it’s my treat.”_

Otabek rushes to grab Yuri’s wrist before the other boy can pull any cash from his wallet.

They’re at a restaurant similar to the one they’d found themselves at the day they became friends. It’s quieter than the one in Barcelona had been, and no one has interrupted them this time around.

“I can pay for mine,” Yuri argues. “I’m not poor.”

They’d both ordered some cheap sandwiches and tea that they ate while they talked about nothing in particular.

“I have no doubts about that, Mr. Gold Medalist,” Otabek teases. “I just figured I’d catch the bill. A treat for you since you’ve won another medal.”

Yuri sighs and closes his wallet.

“You won a medal too, you know.” Yuri says. “What if I wanted to treat you?”

“I only got bronze.”

“So?”

Otabek smiles. “You can treat me next time. _When I beat you_.”

Otabek doubts that will ever happen, but the way Yuri’s eyes light up at the challenge makes him feel like he’s won _something_.

 

**_~Four~_ **

_“Come here.  Let me fix it.”_

Otabek is watching as Yuri struggles to get his costume zipped; arms bent at odd angles behind his back as he reaches desperately for the little metal clasp.

“What good is being flexible if I can’t even zip my own damn outfits.” He spits.

Otabek steps over and bats Yuri’s hands away. He tugs the zipper the rest of the way up Yuri’s back with no issue, being careful to avoid the crimson feathers that stick out all over the thing.

“This looks a bit like one of your old costumes.” Otabek observes.

Yuri shakes his arms, probably loosening the cramps he’d caused in his determination.

“It’s based off the one I won the Grand Prix in two years ago.” Yuri states. “I wish I could pull off something less flamboyant.”

“Like what?”

“Like _your_ costumes.”

Otabek looks down at his own suit. It’s plain black, with juts of silver on the lapels. It’s made to look like a simple tux; very ordinary, manly and without much flare.

“Ah.” He says, looking back at Yuri in his vibrant, skintight red. “But I think your costumes are much better.”

“How so?” Yuri quirks an eyebrow.

“The judges and the audience won’t— _can’t_ — take their eyes off of you when you’re dressed like that.”

Yuri laughs and checks his skate guards before he walks out to where they’ll meet their coaches.

He looks back over his shoulder at Otabek.  “ _You_ better not take your eyes off of me, Altin.” 

Otabek swallows a bit thickly as Yuri disappears and thinks, _I won’t_.

 

**_~Five~_ **

_“I’ll walk you home.”_

Otabek’s words are drowned by the music.

Yuri had coaxed him into going out after the competition with a few of the other skaters. Now both of them are teetering on the wrong side of intoxicated.

Yuri has just angrily (and rather suddenly) announced that he’s leaving after the appearance of Jean-Jacques Leroy at their corner booth. Otabek doesn’t blame him, JJ can be obnoxious, and he knows he’s hard for Yuri to stomach.

The blond’s already disappearing into the crowd when Otabek manages to get up. His head spins a bit and he looks back at the table, meeting Victor’s eyes.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get him back to the hotel.”

Victor nods and Otabek does his best to find his balance as he turns to follow Yuri.

By the time he catches up to him, Yuri has just stopped in the middle of the dance floor; people writhing rhythmically all around him. Otabek grabs his hand unconsciously and tugs Yuri close enough that he won’t have to shout over the music.

The other boy moves easily, not even startled.

“I’m leaving with you.” Otabek says. It’s still a half shout.

Yuri shakes his head and steadies himself by gripping Otabek’s hand even harder.

“I changed my mind.”

They’re drunkenly leaning toward each other, and someone bumps Otabek from behind causing his face to almost smash against Yuri’s.

“Why?” He asks.

Yuri brings his free hand up to place it on the back of Otabek’s neck, and then he lifts their joined hands until it looks like they’re in a position to waltz.

“I want to dance. Dance with me, _Beka_.” 

Otabek’s head suddenly feels a bit fuzzier, and the nickname seems to bounce around his skull.

“Yeah,” he says, and it’s almost a whisper. Yuri probably can’t hear it over the music.

He realizes their position is ridiculous in comparison to the upbeat club song pounding around them, and he uses their hands to spin Yuri around and pull him flush against his chest in a move Otabek hopes is drunkenly suave.

Yuri seems fine with it, as he leads their hips into a sway.

“Yeah,” Otabek says again against Yuri’s ear. “ _Let’s dance._ ”

 

**_~Six~_ **

_“Have a good day at work.”_

Yuri stops where he’s slipping on his shoes by the door.

“Is that some kind of joke, Altin?”

Otabek shakes his head.

Yuri’s eyes narrow. “If you weren’t here to visit and relax I’d make you come with me. I can’t believe Yakov is making me teach _children_ how to skate. It’s supposed to be my day off.”

Otabek laughs and sips his tea from the tiger mug he’d found in Yuri’s cabinet.

“It’s just for one day.”

Yuri’s expression changes, morphing from malice to a sad pout. “You leave tomorrow though. It’s our last day to hang out.”

Otabek frowns. “We’ve hung out all week, Yuri.”

Yuri turns away, but pauses before he turns the knob. “It’s not enough.”

The surprising words slide into Otabek’s chest and sit heavy.

“You’re going to be late, Yuri. I’ll see you tonight,” are the words he chooses to respond with, but his thoughts echo Yuri’s.

_No, it’s not enough._

 

**_~Seven~_ **

_“I dreamt about you last night.”_

Yuri’s words crackle through the Skype feed and Otabek adjusts his volume.

“Oh really? What was it about?”

On the screen, Yuri is wrapped up to his chin in blankets, his blonde hair trailing across his pillow where he lays sideways looking into his webcam. He looks tired, but Otabek figures he probably does too. It _is_ the middle of the night.

“I don’t know if I should tell you.” Yuri says lightly, and the frown that follows looks pained.

Otabek raises a concerned brow, hoping it’s not to grainy on Yuri’s end. “Was it a bad dream?”

Yuri nods.

“Tell me anyway. Maybe I can make you feel better about it.” Otabek says.

There’s a beat of silence, and Otabek thinks his screen is frozen until Yuri exhales.

“Okay, yeah. I will.” Yuri brings a hand from under the blanket and presses it to his temple. “We were at a competition and I was watching you skate. For some reason, you kept doing sit spins, which I guess is funny, but then you launched into your combinations. You tried for a quad but you didn’t land it. I couldn’t see why, it was fuzzy, but your leg was so twisted when you came out of it. I woke up screaming.”

Otabek eyes the way the blanket has slipped down Yuri’s bare chest. “So, you had a nightmare about me getting hurt?”

Yuri nods again. “I told you it was awful.”

Otabek ignores the twist in his gut at the visible anxiety that’s etched into Yuri’s features. Otabek doesn’t fear injury, it’s one of his strengths. Apparently, Yuri fears it enough for the both of them.

“You know, our next competition together is in a few weeks.” Otabek says, and he tries to make the edge of his voice teasing. “You’re probably dreaming about me wiping out because deep down you know I’m going to beat you.”

He watches the words register, and Yuri’s demeanor changes instantly—the way it’s prone to do. Just like that it seems Yuri’s nightmare is forgotten.

“Oh really, Beka?” Yuri moves his hand and uses it to prop himself up on one elbow, entire torso sliding into view. “You still think that.”

Otabek smirks. “You’ve seen my free skate.”

Yuri snorts. “You haven’t seen mine.”

Otabek hasn’t. _He can’t wait_ _until he gets to._

 

**_~Eight~_ **

_“Take my seat.”_

“No.”

“Yuri it’s fine. I can sit in the floor.”

They’re in Victor’s living room. Crowded together with a small group of their acquaintances, plotting a surprise party for Yuuri Katsuki’s birthday.

Otabek is visiting Yuri for the week, and when Victor had called Yuri and demanded he come tonight, he of course dragged Otabek along.

Right now, Yuri is glaring down at him, and Otabek stills where he has half-way unseated himself.

“If you get up I will punch you. I’m not a pregnant lady on a train, _I_ can sit in the floor.” Yuri spits.

Otabek throws his hands up in defeat and settles back down into the sofa. “Fine. I just thought it’d be better for—

Yuri cuts him off. “I swear to _fucking Christ,_ if you reference the bruise on my ass from me missing that quad, Altin, I will do _worse_ than punch you.”

Otabek shakes his head. He knows better than to reference Yuri’s fall. Mila and Victor have already teased him endlessly about busting his ass, Otabek doesn’t want to add fuel to that fire.

“I was just going to say it’d be better for me in the floor.”

Mila snickers across from them. “Boys, boys, this little domestic spat would be easily settled if one of you just sits in the other’s lap.”

 She waggles her eyebrows. They both glare at her. Well, Yuri glares at her. Otabek hopes he’s conveying his usual flat expression.

“That wouldn’t settle anything you stupid cow!”

Yuri balls his fists up and forcibly slams himself to the ground between the couch and the coffee table.  

Otabek sees him wince, and sighs.

It wouldn’t have solved much, _but it wouldn’t have been too bad_.

 

**_~Nine~_ **

_-i saved a piece for u_

Otabek looks down at the text message, from Yuri. A few more ping through in quick succession.

- _of cake_

_-well…..i mean i ate a piece for u_

_-in ur honor_

Otabek smiles and then glances around to make sure none of his rink mates are watching him pay more attention to his phone than to practice.

He quickly types back.

_-How nice of you. How was the party?_

Otabek had to leave for Almaty three days before Katsuki’s birthday party. A fact Yuri was none too pleased about. He’d begged Otabek to ‘just stay please, don’t make me have to be there with all of them _alone_.’

Otabek had considered staying, but in the end his coach forbade it. Stating that Otabek misses enough practice as it is.

His phone pings again, several more times.

- _would have been better with u there :(_

_-i miss u already_

_-i wish you lived closer_

_\- the only friend i have here is the hag_

He sighs and lets his thumb hover over the keyboard.

_-I miss you too._

He types hastily, and presses send without looking before tossing his phone back into his bag.

 _He misses Yuri too._ He thinks over it again in his head, weighing it against the weight in his chest. _Perhaps_ _more than he should._

 

**_~Ten~_ **

_“I’m sorry for your loss.”_

Otabek smirks as he says it. He hopes it doesn’t come out too obnoxious, he’d hate to sound like JJ.

Yuri lets out an indignant squawk and marches up to Otabek from his position across the room. He’s no longer in his costume.

“I didn’t _lose_.”

Otabek chuckles and reaches out. He grabs the silver medal that’s hanging around Yuri’s neck and palms it gently.

“My bad. I meant congrats on second place.”

Yuri narrows his eyes and blows a loose strand of hair out of his face. It’s fallen out of the tight braid that’s wrapping itself around Yuri’s head. Otabek moves his hand, letting the medal drop, before tucking the hair back into place.

Yuri smacks his hand away, then lunges forward; latching his hands around the medal that’s weighing against Otabek’s own chest.

“I can’t believe you did this to me, Beka.” Yuri lifts the gold circle and waves it between them.

“I _told you_ I would beat you. It’s not a miracle.” Otabek says flatly, but he can’t stop himself from smiling. He beat Yuri by barely a point, and he knows Yuri is proud of him.

He’s proud of himself. It’s not easy to win, let alone win against Russia’s self-proclaimed Ice Tiger. The difficulty of Otabek’s programs has doubled since last year and it still barely put him ahead.

Yuri sighs and lets the medal fall back to where it was. “I guess this means I owe you dinner?”

Otabek furrows his brows. “Huh?”

Yuri just cocks his head and frowns. “You bought me dinner when I won gold. Now it’s my turn to treat you.”

“I’m surprised you remember that.”

Yuri just snorts. “Come on, Altin. Let’s get out of here before the press find us. I don’t want to answer any more questions about how it feels to _lose_.”

And if Otabek’s heart skips a beat when Yuri takes him by the hand to drag him out of the building, so be it.

_He just won gold._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For some reason, he can't slow the beat of his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a POV change here and all of these snapshots are in Yuri's POV.
> 
>  
> 
> _These two boys see the world in different ways and fall in love at different tempos, so bear that in mind._
> 
>  
> 
> Once again. This is a gift for my wonderful beta so all mistakes are my own.  
> If you see any glaring ones let me know and i'll go back through and correct them.  
>   
> Enjoy!

**_~Eleven~_ **

_“You can have half.”_

Yuri looks up from the slice of cake on Otabek’s plate he’s been eyeing.

“I’m fine, Beka.” He _isn’t._ His stomach is growling, and his mouth is watering just looking at the chocolate sauce dripping down the sides of the perfectly long, triangular slice. “ _Really_. I’m fine.”

Otabek laughs, and Yuri watches a smile spread across his face.

“I won’t tell Yakov. I’m sure he wouldn’t care if you only have half.”

Yuri shakes his head. “I’ll care. I don’t want to end up like the Japanese piggy.”

Katsuki Yuuri gains weight if he even _looks_ too long at food, and now that Yuri’s body isn’t like it used to be, he’s terrified he’ll end up the same way.

At seventeen he’s passing through what is— _hopefully_ —his final grow spurt, and Yakov is also afraid he’ll start gaining weight the way even Victor had in his youth. _In all the wrong places._ So, he’s been placed on a strict food regimen that doesn’t involve cake of any kind. 

Otabek chuckles again. “You’ve never gained a pound since I’ve known you. I doubt you’ll start now.” He pauses and looks at Yuri thoughtfully. “If anything, you look thinner because your limbs are so _impossibly long_.”

Yuri groans at the emphasis Otabek uses. “Don’t remind me. My short program looks like Bambi On Ice. And if I let myself eat cake it’ll look like _fat_ Bambi On Ice.”

He lets his head fall to the restaurant table and grinds his forehead against the wooden surface.

Yuri feels Otabek’s hand reach across the table to tangle in the loose strands of his hair. It’s getting too long, but every time he suggests cutting it Otabek gives him a reason not to.

Like now when Otabek uses it as leverage to yank his head up and force Yuri to meet his steely brown eyes.

“Your short program is beautiful.”  He drops Yuri’s hair and moves to cut his cake in half. He places the larger piece on a napkin and slides it across to Yuri. “No amount of cake is going to change that, _Yura_.”

Yuri’s breath catches at the nickname, and he takes the half-slice while rising back up in his seat.

And if there’s a permanent blush on his face as he eats it, _it’s not at all because he’s flustered_.

 

**_~Twelve~_ **

_“Take my jacket, it’s cold outside.”_

“It’s cold _in here_ , Altin.” Yuri scoffs, but he takes the leather jacket that’s being offered to him and tugs it on. It does make the chill seem less affronting.

They’re leaving the rink, about to climb onto Otabek’s motorbike and ride straight back to Otabek’s apartment for the umpteenth time this week.

Yuri stops to look up at the sky, it’s gray and clouded over, but it’s nowhere near getting dark yet. They’ve gotten out a bit early today.

“We should go get dinner.” Yuri says quietly. “Like at a sit down.”

Otabek pauses in front of him, half turned to hand Yuri his special leopard print helmet—the one Yuri had custom ordered on impulse after their third ride together.

“What about your diet?”

Otabek’s face is locked into that carefully flat expression it always has, and Yuri watches the wind ruffle the loose black hair above his undercut.

“I’m leaving tomorrow,” is the only response Yuri can muster.

“I know.”

For a moment, it looks as though Otabek’s eyebrows pinch sadly, but then his face flattens back out. It’s gone so fast that Yuri thinks he may have imagined it.

“We should eat at that restaurant around the corner one last time before I go.” 

It’s a small establishment; the first place Otabek took him when he arrived last week, and where they shared the cake that Yuri can’t stop thinking about. He really wants to cheat and have a whole piece this time, _screw the diet_.  

“I…” Otabek hesitates, and the light blush forming on his cheeks definitely isn’t imagined. “I actually have something planned for us, but if you’d rather…”

He trails off and looks away, like he wants to hide his expression.

Yuri scrambles to take his helmet from Otabek’s palm and snap it under his chin.

“That’s fine.” He says quickly. “Let’s go with your plan.”

Otabek glances back at him, just barely. “Are you sure? If you really want to eat out—

“No.” Yuri cuts him off, clambering onto the back of the bike and patting the spot in front of him, wanting Otabek to sit down. “It was just a suggestion. If you already have something planned I’d rather find out what it is.”

“Okay. If you’re sure.”

Yuri pats the seat again impatiently. “ _Positive_. I’ll enjoy your idea much more anyway.”

He’s relieved to see the hint of a smile on Otabek’s lips as he snaps his own helmet and climbs in front of Yuri.

Yuri automatically wraps his arms around Otabek’s waist, and as he buries his cold cheek against the warmth of Otabek’s back, his want for cake is all but forgotten.

_Whatever Otabek plans to make will probably taste better anyway._

 

**_~Thirteen~_ **

_“Sorry I’m late.”_

Otabek chuckles on the grainy screen of Yuri’s laptop. He’s laid back on his bright white pillows, the long top part of his hair un-gelled and falling into his eyes, and Yuri can’t tell if he’s shirtless under his blue blanket or not. _He probably shouldn’t worry about it._

“I don’t think you can be late to a skype call, Yura.”

Yuri leans down close to his webcam until he knows his whole face is taking up Otabek’s screen, and frowns.

“But I told you I’d call three hours ago. I’m surprised you’re still awake.”

“I’m sure you have a good excuse.” Otabek says, and then he leans up, getting closer to his own screen.

Yuri turns his frown into a snarl. “Victor made me help him with wedding stuff. It’s barely a month away, you’d think he’d have everything ready by now.”

Otabek yawns and Yuri can’t help but watch the way his jaw stretches. “Victor is probably just anxious, Yura. Are they still having it in Japan?”

Yuri nods. “Are you coming?”

Otabek sighs. “I’m going to try to. My coach doesn’t want me gone more than three days if I do.”

Yuri winces. “You’d need four just for the travel to be comfortable and not rushed.”

Otabek throws a look of daggers through the camera that says plainly: _I’m aware._

Yuri counters it with a pout. “You have to come, though. I’ll call your coach if I have to. You can’t make me suffer through the whole event on my own.”

“I’ll do my best.” Otabek says tightly. “And you’ll know everyone there, Yuri, you won’t be alone.”

Yuri’s chest tightens at the way Otabek says ‘Yuri’ instead of the warm ‘Yura’ he realizes he’s become way too accustomed to hearing.

“Sorry, I wasn’t trying to push you. I know you need to train.” He pauses. “It’s just…everyone else… they’re not…”

He trails off, and Otabek’s face softens again like he understands what Yuri’s leaving unsaid.

_They’re not Otabek._

 

**_~Fourteen~_ **

_“Can I have this dance?”_

Otabek must’ve slipped up beside him when Yuri wasn’t looking, and Yuri startles as the question filters through the soft music. He almost spills the flute of champagne— that he’s not supposed to have— down the front of his tux, but Otabek’s hand catches his wrist and steadies it.

“Beka.” Yuri says, a bit breathless as he takes in the other man’s appearance. He’d noticed him in the crowd during the ceremony, but he hadn’t had time to really look. “Don’t scare me like that.”

“Do you want to dance?” Otabek repeats, extending a hand toward Yuri.

Yuri forces himself to look at the other man’s eyes and not at the perfectly tailored lines of his grey suit.

“Sure. Just let me…” He points to the alcohol in his hand and frantically looks around for somewhere to put it.

They’re not near enough to any of the tables, but he recognizes Mila’s bright red hair behind him. She’s talking to someone he doesn’t recognize, and he has to tap her hard on the shoulder to get her attention.

She turns with one eyebrow raised, but Yuri just thrusts his glass into her empty hands. “Drink this. I’m going to dance with Beka.”

He sees the corner of her mouth tilt and a questioning look cross her sharp features, but he turns away before she can make any snide comments. He’s sure she’ll tease him later, she always does.

Otabek still has his hand extended and Yuri takes it easily, stepping into position for a waltz on instinct. They’re close to the same height, so it feels awkward.

“Who’s going to lead?” He asks in a whisper.

“Do you want to?”

Yuri shakes his head, and moves his free hand to rest on Otabek’s shoulder. “You can.”

Otabek smiles slightly and puts his hand on Yuri’s hip just as the song around them changes. It turns into something softer; more modern and with English lyrics. It’s less suited for a traditional dance, and more for just swaying in place.

“Well, I guess neither of us needs to.” Otabek says lightly, as he untangles their hands, and links both of his arms around Yuri’s back.

Yuri stumbles a bit, catching himself on Otabek’s chest before he gets what they’re doing and clasps his hands together over Otabek’s shoulders. When they start swaying it’s less of a dance and more of a glorified hug.

“Look at them.” Otabek says, and Yuri feels the words ghost over the shell of his ear.

He tries not to shiver as he turns his head to follow Otabek’s gaze.

 Victor and the piggy are swaying together in the middle of the dance floor. Their matching white tuxes blend where they’re pressed all along each other; forehead to forehead and looking into each other’s eyes.

“They’re so gross.” Yuri says, but he can’t put his usual malice behind it. _Not today._

“They’re so _in love_.” Otabek counters, and Yuri can hear the uncharacteristic edge of awe in his voice. “Besides, it’s their wedding.”

“They’re still disgusting.” Yuri says halfheartedly.

 “You can’t tell me you don’t want something like that.” Otabek’s head turns, and Yuri knows he’s suddenly the one being looked at; can feel the intensity. “Someday.”

Yuri tears his eyes away from the happy couple. The expression on Otabek’s face is unreadable, and his nose is dangerously close to Yuri’s own.

If Yuri leans forward just barely, they’ll be in the same position as Victor and Katsuki.

He takes a shuddering breath and forces himself to keep his gaze steady.

“I mean yeah, _I guess I do_.”

 

**_~Fifteen~_ **

_“I made your favorite.”_

Yuri just stares at Otabek. He’s standing shirtless in Yuri’s kitchen with a pirozhki in one hand and Yuri’s favorite tiger mug in the other. He looks freshly showered.

“It’s eight in the morning, Beka,” he says, trying to sound flat. “On a free day.”

Otabek shrugs. “I woke up at four and went for a run.”

Yuri groans. “Only you, Altin, would go on a run when you’re meant to be resting.”

Otabek waves the food in his hand. “I also made pirozhkis.”

Yuri walks up to the table between them, and grabs one off of the plate Otabek has set them out on. He rips it in half, but pauses before he brings it to his mouth.

“Are these _breakfast_ pirozhkis.” He exclaims, raising an eyebrow at Otabek. “I know I didn’t have the ingredients for these. Which means you went for a run _to the market._ Who _are_ you?”

Otabek sips whatever is in his mug, but Yuri can see him grinning past the rim. “I’m your best friend.”

“Yeah, but how did you know I was craving these? Being my best friend shouldn’t give you a sixth sense.”

Otabek shrugs again. “Maybe I’m your soulmate.”

Otabek’s tone is teasing, but it still causes something in Yuri’s chest expands unfairly.

 _Yeah._ Yuri thinks as he bites into the pirozhki. _Maybe._   


 

**_~Sixteen~_ **

_“It’s okay. I couldn’t sleep anyway.”_

“I’m still sorry for calling.”

“Don’t be.” Otabek says, and his voice sounds rough and tired. “Do you want to Skype? Or Facetime? I have an iPhone now.”

“Not really.” Yuri feels bad for waking Otabek up, and he doesn’t want Otabek to see the tear tracks drying down his cheeks. He does his best to keep his voice from cracking. “I still don’t know why I called.”

“Was it another nightmare?”

“Yeah.” He admits quietly.

“Want to tell it to me again? Like we did last time?”

Last time they had to talk like this, he dreamed Otabek had injured himself falling out of a quad, but this dream was much worse. Much more graphic and filled with _death_. Yuri doesn’t want to relive it.

He shakes his head vigorously before he remembers that Otabek can’t see him.

“No. This time I really can’t,” he says, and swallows the lump in his throat.

It sounds like Otabek is shuffling in bed on the other end of the line. “Are you sure you don’t want to Skype?”

“Yeah.” Yuri presses a palm to his stinging eyes. “I think I’m going to lay back down.”

“Are you okay now?”

“Yeah.” Yuri says again. “I guess I just needed to talk to you.”

“That’s fine.” Otabek pauses, and Yuri hears him shuffling again. “You’ll Skype me tomorrow, right?”

“Right after practice.” Yuri promises.

There’s a long moment where neither of them says anything, and Yuri starts to wonder if it would have been better to Skype after all.

Then Otabek’s voice crackles through the speaker. “Goodnight, _Yura._ ”

“Night, _Beka_.”

Yuri waits to hear the disconnect; not wanting to hang up first, but it never comes. There’s just another, longer stretch of silence.

Yuri falls asleep to the sound of Otabek breathing through the line _. His dreams are calm after that._

 

**_~Seventeen~_ **

_“Watch your step.”_

Yuri doesn’t hear Otabek’s warning in time and his skate guard catches on an uneven part of the floor. He shuts his eyes and throws his hands out, bracing for impact with the concrete.

It never comes. Instead, he feels strong hands wrapping around his biceps and pulling him back to his feet.

When he reopens his eyes, Otabek is looking at him with thinly veiled amusement etched across his features.

“How can you be so graceful on the ice,” he teases, “yet such a disaster off of it?”

Yuri just shakes out of his hold and rolls his eyes. “Don’t start with me today, Altin. I watched you trip over your own feet barely a month ago and almost break your wrist.”

“Touché.” Otabek smirks, and Yuri watches his eyes darken with mischief. With his hair slicked back, and his plain black costume he suddenly looks a lot less _stoic_ , and a lot more _villainous_. “I just hope this isn’t foreshadowing for how your performance is going to go.”

Yuri narrows his eyes and smooths down his own annoyingly vibrant costume. “You’re not beating me again, Altin. Last time was a fluke.”

“We’ll see.”

Yuri turns his back on him, and talks back over his shoulder while he scans the crowd for Yakov. “Sometimes I think you like riling me up.”

“Maybe I just want you to buy me dinner again.”

Yuri locates Yakov, whose glaring at him rather sternly across the crowd and pointing firmly to the empty spot on the bench beside him.

Yuri hastily steps toward him—not in the mood to be yelled at before his short program—but throws a smile back over his shoulder at Otabek.

“Okay, _Beka_. Then how about this? I’ll win gold _and_ buy you dinner after. We can call it a consolation prize.”  

He doesn’t bother waiting for a response. He knows Otabek’s answer, after all…

_Yuri’s just issued a challenge._

 

**_~Eighteen~_ **

_“Here, drink this. You’ll feel better.”_

Otabek is standing near the kiss and cry as Yuri exits. He’s just out of view from the cameras, and holding out a bottle of water.

Yuri grabs it and takes a greedy sip, ignoring a warning from Yakov not to chug it. He’s still panting from his arduous free skate—his sides still splitting with ache—and the water feels so good he almost wants to pour it over his head.

“What are you doing over here?” Yuri asks between breaths. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready to try and beat my score?”

Yuri’s free skate just brought his total up to a pleasant 309.52. He’s feeling rather smug about it.

Otabek’s mouth quirks up at the corner but he keeps his face flat. “I didn’t see you grab a water. I just thought I’d bring you one.”

Yuri feels himself smile. “Thanks.”

“Are you going to change?” Otabek asks timidly, “Or are you going to watch me skate?”

“Don’t I always watch you skate?”

Otabek shrugs. “You usually change first, but I’m next so you won’t have time.”

He can hear the pinched anxiety in his friend’s voice—his friend who never really gets nervous—and it instantly sinks in that Otabek is standing in front of him right now, instead of prepping to get on the ice.

Something melts inside Yuri’s chest and he can’t blame it on his burning lungs.

“I think I can stand to be in my costume a little longer,” he says softly.

It’s sticking uncomfortably to Yuri’s skin, and the red feathers around the collar are starting to itch, but he’ll be okay.

_Watching Otabek skate feels more important._

 

**_~Nineteen~_ **

_“Can I hold your hand?”_

Yuri almost falls off the podium, eyes going a bit wide as he looks down to where Otabek stands below him.

His score totaled out to 308.48 even though his free skate had looked almost flawless to Yuri, but Otabek doesn’t look upset to be in second. Instead he just looks expectant, waiting for Yuri to answer his question.

“Won’t that cause a few rumors?” Yuri hisses, as quiet as he can manage.

Everyone knows they’re friends—that they spend a lot of time together— and they’re always close when they’re on the podium at the same time, but this feels like pushing it.

There are cameras flashing at them from every surrounding angle.

Otabek quirks an eyebrow. “Do you care?”

Yuri doesn’t have to think about his answer, he just thrusts his hand into Otabek’s reach and looks back at the cameras.

The flashes get wilder as their fingers twine together, and Otabek lifts their hands into the air in a stunted victory pose. Yakov is going to be pissed, but the feeling in Yuri’s stomach answers Otabek’s question.

_He doesn’t care at all about the consequences._

 

**_~Twenty~_ **

_-You can borrow mine._

Yuri looks down at the text message from Otabek and pinches the bridge of his nose. He’s only been home for thirty minutes and he’s already pissed off.

Apparently one of his smaller bags was misplaced at the airport, and now he has to wait three weeks for them to mail it to him. Nothing really important was in it, but there’s one particular item Yuri finds himself unreasonably stressed over.

He texts Otabek back with stiff thumbs.

_-what do u mean ?_

_-that doesn’t even make sense_

He has enough time to get up off his bed and grab his computer before his phone pings again.

_-I’ll mail you my bear._

Yuri reads the message three times before replying.

_-wat_

_-y ?_

Yuri opens his laptop and pulls up the page for the tracking info that the airport had given him. He favorites it before staring back down at his phone.

Otabek is taking a while to answer, and Yuri figures he’s probably settling into his own apartment; unpacking his own luggage.

It’s a surprise when his laptop pings instead of his cell, and a Skype window pops up with ‘ _Video Call from OtaBear’_ blinking at the top.

Yuri takes a minute to flatten his un-brushed hair before he answers it.

Otabek fizzles into view; pixelated and broken at first before the connection becomes solid. Yuri takes in his oversized hoodie and rumpled appearance. He looks like he slept on the plane.

“Hi.” Yuri punctuates the greeting with a tired wave.

Otabek skips the greeting entirely, immediately launching to his point.

“I can send you my bear, Yura.”

Yuri blinks a few times. “Yeah you’ve already said that. But why?”

Otabek stretches out of view for a moment, and comes back holding his teddy bear in its little Kazakhstan jacket and multicolored suit. Yuri finds impossibly cute; impossibly Otabek, and that’s why Yuri had bought one just like it.

“You said you couldn’t sleep without yours. So, I’ll send you mine for bit.” Otabek says, like it’s the simplest solution in the world; not at all weird or _insane_.

“Isn’t that rather pointless since mine is being mailed to me, too?” Yuri asks, trying to keep his voice even.

Otabek shakes his head and his hair falls over his forehead. “You said they told you it’d be three weeks. I can overnight mine.”

Yuri wants to laugh. Partly out of frustration, and partly over how ridiculous his best friend is.

“Yeah, but then I’ll have to mail your bear back,” He pauses, letting the conversation sink in to its fullest. “Or bring it to the next competition we have together and that’s not for months.”

“Or,” Otabek starts, then he glances away from the camera, looking a bit sheepish for a moment. “I could just come get him. In a few weeks.”

Yuri stills for a moment, then feels himself smile.

“ _Beka_ ,” he teases lowly, “is this your way of saying you miss me and you want to come over?”

Yuri’s not looking for a serious response, but the blush that spreads cross Otabek’s face isn’t fully expected either. It darkens his honey-tan skin and Yuri likes seeing it a bit more than he should.

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?” Yuri echoes dumbly.

“ _Maybe_.” Otabek repeats it more firmly, looking back at the camera. “Maybe I miss you, and maybe I want to come cover.”

“ _Oh_.” Yuri says, and it feels heavy and numb on his tongue. “Then maybe you should.”

They sit there for a few moments in some kind of tense silence, staring at each other through their poor-quality webcams. Just when Yuri begins to wonder if something’s gone wrong, or that they’ve somehow upset the balance of their friendship, Otabek exhales.

“I’ll put the bear in the post first thing tomorrow morning, _Yura_.”

Yuri has to make himself nod. “Please do.”

For some reason, _he can’t slow the beat of his heart._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quotes/Prompts for this section:  
> 11) “You can have half.”  
> 12) “Take my jacket, it’s cold outside.”  
> 13) “Sorry I’m late.”  
> 14) “Can I have this dance?”  
> 15) “I made your favorite.”  
> 16) “It’s okay. I couldn’t sleep anyway.”  
> 17) “Watch your step.”  
> 18) “Here, drink this. You’ll feel better.”  
> 19) “Can I hold your hand?”  
> 20) “You can borrow mine.”
> 
> I feel like these get harder as they go along, but I hope you like what I'm doing with them. Feedback is appreciated.  
> As always you can find me at [Kingotabek](http://kingotabek.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Next section will be Beka again!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It really hits him then, just how gone he truly is._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well...after three weeks of disaster in my daily life....i give you chapter three.  
>   
> Unbeta'd as always, because it's a gift for my beta (Love you Michaela. Hope you're still enjoying this). I'll go through tomorrow and make edits so if you see something let me know!
> 
> Beka's POV again! And my poor boy is head over heels.

**_~Twenty-One~_ **

_“You might like this one.”_

Otabek looks at the phone screen Yuri is shoving in his face.

The costume displayed on it looks almost exactly like the one he’s wearing now, except instead of the shirt being plain black with little embellishments of silver, it’s a dark emerald green. There are workings of the same colored sequins over the sleeves making it appear flashy; _vibrant_.

Otabek loosens his grip on his own bicep where he’s holding the thin fabric of his suit together.

It had ripped while he was on the ice; making him perform the second half with it flapping loosely and causing him to almost miss a jump.

“I’ll probably just get this one sewn up.”

Yuri just rolls his eyes and pulls his phone back, tapping the screen a few times before he looks back at Otabek.

“I thought you wanted something a more like _mine_.”

He gestures to the red feathered ensemble Otabek has gotten so used to seeing in his peripheral this season. It fits tight to Yuri’s skin; blending in and out of crimson shades in a gradient. There’s just a touch of glitter and Otabek assumes the costume is meant to replicate some kind of bird, but it doesn’t. _Not on Yuri._

On Yuri, it looks like a rising fire that comes alive when he skates; licks of flame blurring out from his limbs during sit spins, and dangerous tendrils of pure heat emitting from his jumps.

“Tight?” Otabek asks, feigning seriousness.

 _“Flamboyant.”_ Yuri clarifies.

“It’s probably not a good idea to change my costume halfway through the season.” Otabek levels. “Too distracting.”

“It might make the judges give you extra notice.” Yuri says with a hint of conspiracy, looking back down at his phone. “Maybe they’d even give you gold.”

Otabek snorts and takes a quick drink from the water bottle in his free hand.

“I’ve won gold in _this_.” He shoots a dry look at the side of Yuri’s head. “Or have you forgotten?”

“Oh, I remember.” Yuri growls, but there’s no real anger in it. “I still think you should just replace it, though. This is a good excuse to change costumes.”

Otabek fully lets go of his sleeve, letting the split fall open. He needs to go change anyway.

“Why are you so adamant about this?” He asks. “Is this one that bad?”

Yuri looks back at him then, cheeks going a bit pink, before he jerks his head to the other side and grumbles something Otabek can’t hear over the roar of the crowds around them.

“What?”

Yuri mutters again.

“You’re going to have to speak up, _Yura_. We are in a _very loud_ stadium.”

Yuri slowly turns his head back around, locking his phone and pocketing it.

“I said,” Yuri sighs, “ _that I may have already purchased you the green one_.”

Otabek can’t help but eye the blush across the bridge of Yuri’s nose.

 

 

**_~Twenty-Two~_ **

_“You’re not heavy.  I’m stronger than I look.”_

Otabek feels the strain in his arms even as he says it, and gently lowers Yuri back to the ice.

Yuri hits gracefully. “Why are we doing this again?”

“I don’t know.” Otabek shrugs. “It was your idea.”

Yuri looks a bit sheepish as he spins away from Otabek. Then he mutters something under his breath as he twirls back into Otabek’s hold.

“What?” Otabek asks, focusing on turning his ankles at the exact moment Yuri turns his. He doesn’t want them to fall. _Again._

“I said, technically it was Victor’s idea.” Yuri sighs as he moves into position for another lift. “He said pair skating would help me balance out my routines now that I’m taller or some shit.”

Otabek places his hands on Yuri’s hips, gripping them tight enough to bruise, but Yuri doesn’t even flinch. They complete the lift before Otabek dares to speak.

“Wouldn’t it have been better to skate with Mila or one of the girls, then?” He keeps his voice light, emotionless. “So you could do the lifting?”

“ _Oh_.” Yuri says suddenly, and it's quieter than normal as he stops skating entirely; digging his toe-pick into the ice and throwing Otabek off balance.

“Are you alright, Yura?” Otabek searches Yuri’s face as he rights himself, worrying that something is wrong.

“I never even considered pair skating with a girl.” Yuri meets Otabek’s eyes and he seems dazed. “When Victor mentioned it, all he said was to make sure I find a partner I really trust. Mila didn’t even come to mind.”

_Oh._

 

**_~Twenty-Three~_ **

“ _I’ll wait.”_

Otabek pinches Yuri’s side hard enough to make him groan, and smiles to himself.

“You don’t have a choice to wait. Yakov said you need your physical done this week, and it’s already Friday.”

Yuri covers his face with his pillow, and it muffles his voice. “There’s not a real reason I can’t do it next week. Let me sleep, Beka.”

“You’re going.” Otabek says firmly, tugging on the pillow and trying to pry it from Yuri’s firm grasp. He knows Yuri hates going to doctors for any reason, but this physical is pertinent for his career.  Especially with his body still growing. “I’ll even go with you.”

That gets Yuri to move the pillow. His hair is ruffled and there’s a line of drool dried on the side of his mouth that Otabek knows better than to tease him for. _He looks wild,_ even though he’s just been sleeping _._

“Will you buy me food after?”

Otabek smiles. “We’ll see.”

_He already plans to make Yuri his favorite pirozhkis._

 

**_~Twenty-Four~_ **

_“Just because!?”_

The voice of Otabek’s coach shrieks through the connection static. She doesn’t sound thrilled, but he hadn’t expected her to.

“You want to stay in Russia an extra week _just because_?! I don’t know what’s gotten into you Altin, but if you don’t tell me a real reason— _a really good reason—_ I’m going to drill one out of your hide.”

He has enough sense to flinch at the threat, thanking every god he can that they’re not having this conversation in person. His coach is an amazing woman, a wonderful skater, dancer and choreographer, but at the end of the day she’s terrifying.

“I’m keeping up with my training schedule under Yakov just fine. And I just…” Otabek pauses trying to formulate a reason his coach will want to hear. He remembers the pair skating. “I’m working on a routine I think I can use as an exhibition, and I think I need another week with one of the skaters here to get it down before I bring it back to show you.”

He hears her grunt, not sounding entirely convinced. “Fine, Otabek. Have another week.”

He sighs audibly in relief and then winces. He hopes she doesn’t detect it. He’s sure she’s already detected his lie; probably already knows he wants to stay just because Yuri asked.

“Thank you.”

“Whatever, Altin. _Just go ahead and tell Plisetsky he better be glad I like you as much as he does.”_

 

**_~Twenty-Five~_ **

_“Look at it both ways.”_

Otabek tugs the paper between them closer and snags Yuri’s pencil. Yuri's been going over the same portion of his math work for fifteen minutes, and Otabek is tired of watching him struggle.

There’s a couple different ways to solve the problem at the top, that he knows relatively well, but math isn’t his strongest subject. Still, he does his best writing out what he knows for Yuri to follow.

Yuri moves his finger down to the worksheet and points at the line of numbers Otabek has just written.

“Can you just…” he pauses and huffs, blowing a strand of hair out of his face with it. “Show me again how you get to this. That’s the part where I keep getting lost.”

Otabek shifts and leans closer to Yuri, sorting out how to explain the steps in his head. He does the problem again, slower this time, so Yuri can see exactly how _x_ turns into a new number.

Yuri hums along and nods occasionally like he’s finally getting it, but then Otabek knows he’s lost him again when Yuri starts absentmindedly tracing circles on the back of Otabek’s free hand with one finger.

“Pay attention, Yuri. Your tutor will be pissed if you turn in more bad marks.” He flips Yuri’s hand over palm up and traps it against the table; placing the pencil in it. “You try, and I’ll help more if you get stuck again.”

Yuri just sighs, closing his fingers over both the pencil and Otabek’s lingering fingers. “I wish I were more like you, Beka.”

“More like me how?” Otabek asks gently, trying to remove his hand from Yuri’s grip, but Yuri’s fingers only tighten.

“I wish I were good at everything, and not just a few things. You're nearly perfect.”

The corner of Yuri’s mouth tilts up as Otabek looks over at him, their hands are still clasped together, and Otabek feels his face heat to match his palm.

He thinks that Yuri has to be teasing him, he’s not the one that’s perfect.

_Yuri is._

 

**_~Twenty-Six~_ **

_“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”_

Otabek grimaces down at the brush head tangled in the ends of Yuri’s long locks. The handle is still in Otabek’s hovering hand. The plastic end looking sharp where it has snapped off.

Yuri blinks up at him sleepily from where he’s seated in between Otabek’s knees. “Really, Altin?”

He shifts and Otabek watches him pull his hair over his shoulder, the parts not mangled by the brush fall down his chest in waves. Yuri brings the offensive brush in front of his face and just huffs as he begins trying to detangle it.

It’s a calm reaction, and not the one Otabek was expecting.

He exhales a breath he didn’t know he held, and places the handle on the end table beside him.

“ _Sorry.”_ He says again, less panicked.

Yuri laughs and it shakes Otabek’s calves where they’re pressed to his sides.

“What are you apologizing for? Do you think this is the first time someone has broken a brush in the fucking _bird’s nest_ I’m growing on my head?”

Yuri punctuates his question by yanking the strands of his hair in different directions, away from the bristles.

Otabek is horrified to see a tuft break off and float down to the carpet, shining golden against the gray shag. His hand darts out before he can stop it, grabbing Yuri’s wrist and stilling it.

“ _Stop_.” He takes the brush end back and tries to copy Yuri’s movements with a bit more care. “You’re breaking your hair off.”

“It’s really not a big deal, Beka.” Yuri shrugs, bumping his shoulders against the bottom of Otabek’s thighs. It causes Otabek to yank the hair in his fingers, but Yuri still doesn’t react. “Worst case scenario we can just cut it out. I’m due for a trim.”

Otabek’s hands freeze. “ _No_.”

The vehemence in his voice is so thick it startles him. And it earns him a quiet glance of surprise from Yuri.

“Don’t cut it.” He forces his fingers to finish their task, getting the brush free in record time.

“Why not?” Yuri tilts his head all the way back, pinning Otabek with his jade green eyes. “It’s getting too long don’t you think?”

Otabek shakes his head, runs through the remaining tangles with his hand, and swallows a bit thickly. “You _shouldn’t_ , because it suits you like this.”

He lets the last strands of perfect silk fall from his fingers. It fans out from Yuri’s scalp and cascades over Otabek’s thighs.

 _Yuri shouldn’t_ , he thinks, _because it’s beautiful like this._

 

**_~Twenty-Seven~_ **

_“Try some.”_

Otabek eyes the powder coated _thing_ Yuri keeps waving around in the air. There’s a whole dish of them between the two skaters, and a thin layer of sugar dust coats Yuri’s lips to match the sweets.

“What even is it?” Otabek asks warily. The malformed lumps barely look edible, but Yuri keeps shoving them into his mouth.

“Pastila.” Yuri says around another bite.

Otabek is well aware of what Pastila is, but the blob held stickily between Yuri’s fingers looks nothing like it.

“I think I’ll pass.” Otabek is already beyond his sugar limit for the week anyway. “I thought Yakov had you on a diet still?”

“These are allowed.” Yuri pouts, shoving the dish closer to Otabek. “And you _have to_ try them.”

“Why?” Otabek does his best not to wrinkle his nose at the fruit pasties. “They look terrible.”

Yuri’s pout turns into a frown, and Otabek thinks he catches a look of hurt flash over Yuri’s face before it’s gone.

“I made them.” Yuri says quietly, leaning back in his seat and looking away from Otabek. “I made them _for_ you.”

 _Well shit._ The guilt that builds in Otabek’s chest is immediate, and he reacts the only way he knows how.

“I mean, I guess I can try just one.”

He reaches forward for the dish a bit too fast, and jams his index finger through the Pastila closest to him. Yuri’s attention snaps back to him, and it seems like he’s going to say something else, but Otabek just pops the sweet into his own mouth and hums loudly around it.

It doesn’t taste like the Pastila he’s used to, perhaps a bit too bitter, but it’s not nearly as bad as it he thought it was going to be.

“Ah,” Otabek garbles as he chews, and forces his face back into a neutral expression. “its…really good.”

Yuri expression doesn’t change. “You don’t have to say that just because I said I made them for you. You can be honest, Otabek.”

 “I am.” He tries, swallowing both the Pastila and his mounting regret. “It tastes better than it looks.”

Yuri doesn’t look like he buys the small lie at all, but he pulls the dish back toward himself and claims another sweet. “I don’t know if I forgive you just yet. Insulting someone’s desserts based on how they look is a serious crime.”

Against his better judgement, Otabek reaches for another one.

_“I’ll just have to make it up to you, I guess.”_

 

**_~Twenty-Eight~_ **

“ _I need you to come closer_.”

Yuri’s breath is puffing against the skin of Otabek’s neck, and their bodies are pressed flush against each other.

Otabek is panting. “That’s not physically possible right now, Yura.”

Yuri snorts and puts some space between them. “Not at this moment, asshole. I meant during the actual lift.”

They’re practicing the pair skate again. Otabek estimates he’s lifted Yuri about fifteen times in the past two hours, only dropping him twice. His thighs are burning, and his arms are beginning to feel like gelatin, but he refuses to quit as long as Yuri wants to continue.

“Do you think it will help if I’m closer?” He asks, stepping back and digging his pick into the ice so they both don’t go sliding.

“Yes.” Yuri pushes off and takes the form he does right before the second lift. “When I’m in this pose, you’re always slightly too far away. That’s why we can’t get the balance right.”

 _That’s why I keep dropping you_ , Otabek thinks. He knew something was off in this part of the routine, but he’s been more focused on keeping Yuri from crashing to the ice, than on figuring out what. So, it’s a relief that Yuri has finally got it.

He skates around Yuri in a circle and then pulls into position. He makes sure to move about four inches closer than he normally does, before he grabs onto Yuri’s waist. “Like this?”

Yuri nods as he rises into the air more smoothly than before. “Yeah.”

The strain in Otabek’s triceps is lessened. When he lowers Yuri, this time his arms don’t shake, and Yuri’s chest slides against his smoothly. It's less like Yuri’s falling against him, and more like the intimate pose they're supposed to depict.

“Yeah.” Yuri repeats, and Otabek suddenly feels too aware of the other’s breath across his cheek. “ _Just like that._ ”

 

**_~Twenty-Nine~_ **

_“Well, what do you want to do?”_

It’s Saturday, the only day they’ve had off after six straight days of practice, and only three days before Otabek returns to Almaty. He’s made several suggestions for how they should spend their scant hours of freedom, but Yuri has shot down every single one.

He shifts his position on the sofa as Yuri shoves his feet onto his lap.

“I want to _sleep_ , Beka. For five more hours at least.” Yuri closes his eyes as he says it. “You’ve already made me go for a run with you this morning. Isn’t that enough activity for one day!?”

Otabek pinches the bare part of Yuri’s achilles in response, making him open his eyes again and yelp in pain. It’s a small punishment for being frustrating. 

“Ow!” Yuri snaps, removing his feet and putting them on the coffee table instead. “How do you have so much energy anyway?”

Otabek shrugs. “I just don’t feel like lying around. Not on my only day off _before I have to go home_.”

He knows placing emphasis on the last part isn’t exactly playing fair, but it gets Yuri’s attention.

“ _Beka_. That’s so unfair.”

The whine Yuri lets out is high and hurt, and Otabek smiles despite himself.

“I’m just stating facts.”

Yuri grumbles something under his breath in response.

“Hmm? What was that?” Otabek questions, leaning over and digging his fingertips into Yuri’s side. It’s another unfair move, just to make Yuri to squirm.

Yuri actually squeaks and jumps away, and the ridiculous movement pulls a laugh from Otabek’s gut. The sound makes Yuri’s eyes narrow and he grabs Otabek’s hands before he can dive back in for another attack. “Once again, _not fair_ Beka.”

Otabek relents. “Well if you wouldn’t mumble under your breath…

He trails off and settles back into the sofa. There’s a beat of silence where he thinks Yuri isn’t going to respond, then the blond sighs.

“I said… that I wish you could just fucking live _here_.”

The silence falls thicker as the words stretch between them, and Otabek allows his heart to skip a beat.

_He wishes he could live here too._

 

**_~Thirty~_ **

_“One more chapter.”_

Yuri whispers the words against Otabek’s hip, and Otabek can feel them vibrate beneath his skin.

They’re sitting on the couch—Yuri’s head in his lap, facing him—and it’s almost one in the morning. Otabek’s flight leaves in twelve hours, and he honestly doubts he’ll sleep more than four before it’s time to go to the airport.

Yuri’s eyes are already drooping. “Please, Beka.”

Otabek sighs and shifts the ancient copy of _Anna Karenina_ balanced in his palm. They’re two hundred and sixty-four pages in and Otabek isn’t even sure what’s happening. He’s been reading on autopilot for the last hour, and he can’t fathom why he agreed to read aloud to begin with. He hates Tolstoy.

 _It’s for Yuri’s lessons_ , he reminds himself.

“Fine. One more, but then you’re going to have to read this on your own.”

Yuri groans softly. “Please, don’t remind me.”

Otabek just thumbs the page and picks up on chapter twenty-two. “Stepan Arkadyevitch, with the same somewhat solemn expression with which he used to take his presidential chair at his board, walked into Alexey Alexandrovitch’s room…”

He reads until Yuri’s breaths even out— and he’s pretty sure he’s asleep— then closes the book in relief and sits it on the arm of the couch.  

He tries to move out from under Yuri’s head without jostling him awake, but Yuri’s soft, sleep-ridden voice startles him.

“I want you to always read my books to me.”

Otabek settles back into his seat and watches Yuri blink up at him. “Why? Because you’re too lazy to do your own homework?”

Yuri huffs, turning on his side and nuzzling into the crook of Otabek’s hip as his eyes drift back shut. It’s slow and comfortable, the way Yuri settles against him as he speaks.

“Because I like the way your voice sounds.”

 _Fuck_ , Otabek thinks helplessly, as Yuri’s words dig into his chest and Yuri falls back into sleep. It really hits him then, _just how gone he truly is_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, twenty-eight is my favorite, sorry not sorry.
> 
> Also Pastila are similar to turkish delight sometimes (at least the way my great aunt makes them) though i know sometimes they aren't sticky. Hers are about like Yuri's sadly. So i'm not overly fond.
> 
> Quotes/Prompts For this chapter (I marked the ones I altered/changed):  
> 21) “You might like this.”  
> 22) “It’s not heavy. I’m stronger than I look.” (Altered)  
> 23) “I’ll wait.”  
> 24) “Just because.”  
> 25) “Look both ways.” (Altered)  
> 26) “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”  
> 27) “Try some.”  
> 28) “Drive safely.” (Changed Entirely, Oops)  
> 29) “Well, what do you want to do?”  
> 30) “One more chapter.”
> 
> ALSO FUN FACT: my favorite Anna Karenina dialogue quote is located on page 264 (i think i have two different print versions and i'm going off an ancient one), and it's: "I’m an overstrained string that must snap."
> 
> Feedback is more than appreciated (it keeps me going). Shout at me on tumblr at [Kingotabek](http://kingotabek.tumblr.com/)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Three. Two. One--_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH WOULD YOU LOOK AT THAT. It's just two weeks or so shy of being a year since I updated this.
> 
> Never thought I'd turn into one of those authors that sits back one day and goes "you know what would really stir the pot? updating that year old fic that absolutely no one is looking forward to anymore"  
> But here I am....doing just that.
> 
> This fic is still very much dedicated to Michaela. And this chapter will be just as much of a surprise to her as it was to me (and whoever else decides to read it). OOPS.

 

**_~Thirty-One~_ **

_ “Don’t worry about me.” _

Yuri lets the words sink in fully before he snaps.

“ _ Don’t worry about you?!  _ Beka, you didn’t even  _ tell _ me!” He knows the hurt lacing his voice sounds childish. “I had to find out by Victor sending me the link to an article, and you expect me not to  _ worry! _ ”

Otabek’s face pulls down into a wince on the tiny Skype screen.

“I didn’t tell you because I knew how you’d react.”

“And how would that be?” Yuri tries to take a deep breath. “Like  _ this _ ??”

He doesn’t want to react like this, but there’s a war of emotions welling inside his chest; hurt, anger, but most blindingly,  _ fear _ . A lingering sense from all those nightmares he shoves to the back of his focus. Otabek falling. Otabek wrecking his bike. Ice. Blood.  _ Fear _ .

Then he finds out one of his nightmares actually  _ happened _ . Otabek took a spill during practice, his leg is in a brace, he’s out of the next few competitions. It  _ happened _ . And Yuri couldn’t do anything about it; didn’t even  _ know. _

Otabek sighs and it sounds exhausted.  _ He’s probably in pain _ , Yuri thinks helplessly.

“ _ Yura _ .” He shuffles and his brace comes into view. Yuri doesn’t want to see it but he has to look. “I’m really sorry. I thought….well… I guess I  _ didn’t  _ think. I just didn’t want to distract you from your own skating.” 

Yuri tears his eyes away from the brace with effort, and meets Otabek’s grainy gaze. So many things start to suddenly feel heavier, but the anger drains away.

“ _ This is more important than skating. _ ”

 

**_~Thirty-Two~_ **

“ _ It looks good on you _ .”

Otabek just snorts in response. 

“It  _ does, _ ” Yuri counters. “I promise.”

“You have to say that, Yura. You bought it.” 

Otabek is sitting on Yuri’s bed, brand new free skate costume stretching unfairly across his shoulders, and his still-braced leg propped up on a pillow. He arrived for an extended visit the same day the package did. It was  _ fate _ , had to be.

“It’s just so…” Otabek trails off, reaching for water and some pain killers on the bedside table. “I can’t really find words for it.”

“Really? I can find plenty.” Yuri follows the emerald sequins spattered along Otabek’s stretching bicep like a distracted kitten. “Eye-catching? Wowing? Form-fitting? A brilliant choice in shirt that’d be befitting of your routine?  _ Sexy!? _ ”

He doesn’t mean for the last one to slip out quite as easily as it does, but it’s the  _ truth _ . Otabek’s other costume wasn’t bad, but something about the new green fabric against his tan skin sets off an aura of pure allure. Like staring at rare gems, or piles of American money. 

Otabek looks startled, pausing the glass half-way to his mouth.

“You really think the judges will like it?” 

Yuri just nods.

_ If they have eyes,  _ he thinks _ , then they’ll fucking  _ love _ it. _

 

**_~Thirty-Three~_ **

_ “Close your eyes and hold out your hands.”  _

Yuri steps closer to the couch as he states the instructions. Otabek, who’d been dozing off when Yuri had arrived home, sighs but obeys. 

Yuri waves a hand in front of Otabek’s face just to make sure his eyes are shut tight, and when Otabek doesn’t react he places the tri-color ribbon between his fingers. 

Otabek’s eyes open immediately, flying down to the hefty disc on the bottom of the ribbon, and pulling it up to rest in his palm.

Yuri waits for him to look back up before smiling.

“It’s just a little souvenir I brought back for you from the competition.”

“Yura,” Otabek’s face goes cautiously blank, but Yuri can see something flickering behind his eyes, “this is  _ literally _ your gold medal.” 

“Nah,” Yuri says casually. He waves off Otabek’s words and steps over to carefully maneuver Otabek’s legs so he can sit down and put them on his lap instead. “It’s yours.” 

“Yura--” Otabek starts, but Yuri just grips his unbraced shin and squeezes; looking away from Otabek’s steady gaze on purpose. 

“ _ Yours _ , Otabek. No arguments, okay?” He pulls a shaky breath through his nose. “You would have won if you could have been there. I know you would have.”

He sees Otabek shaking his head in his peripheral, but doesn’t give him room to protest.

_ “I only won it for you.” _

 

**_~Thirty-Four~_ **

_ “That’s okay. I bought two.” _

Yuri looks at the brush in his hands. Well… the pieces of the brush in his hands.  _ Another soldier down _ , he thinks, broken by the warring mass of tangles sprouting from his own scalp. Then Otabek’s words register.

“What do you mean, you bought two?” 

Otabek looks up from the book he’s reading, one pulled from the top of Yuri’s untouched study pile, and blinks.

“When I replaced the last one,” he says calmly, like it’s no big deal. “I got an extra one just in case; stuck it in the bottom drawer under sink. Should still be there if you haven’t found it yet.” 

Yuri stands there frozen, absorbing the information but not doing anything with it. Then his brain starts running back over all the times Otabek has brushed his hair, remembering the times the brush has gotten tangled; but barring the first incident, no more brushes have been broken. 

Instead--unlike Yuri who is still stupidly clutching a broken brush--Otabek is always careful to detangle the bristles, treating each blonde knot of hair like fragile glass that he’s unwilling to break.

“You  _ really _ like my hair” Yuri states. 

He knows it’s a fact, with the amount of times Otabek has convinced him not to cut it, but he can’t place  _ why. _ There’s something he thinks he’s missing, or a meaning behind things that he can’t bring himself to believe.  _ Wishful thinking, maybe _ . He shakes off the thought.

“I’ve told you this,” Otabek says, and he’s still calm though his cheeks appear a bit pink now. “ _ I just think it suits you _ .”

 

**_~Thirty-Five~_ **

 

“ _ No, after you. _ ” 

Yuri whines through the line. He’s not meant to be on Facetime at the rink, but the past few days have been miserable, and he misses Otabek’s soothing presence. 

“ _ You _ need to hang up, Yura. I’m three feet away from my phone.” Otabek grunts.

Yuri can’t see him; assumes he’s laid out on the floor doing lifts. He had to return to Kazakhstan to finally get the brace off, and Yuri knows he’s been working double-hard to build back muscle. 

“I don’t want to. It means I have to go back to practice and I’ve already fallen out of three quads today. I haven’t had a break in seven days. At this rate I’ll....”

He trails off, biting his lip to hold back the words “ _ I’ll get injured, too _ .” 

Otabek must hear it in the tone of his voice, because suddenly the small screen is filled with his scowl.

“ _ Yuri. _ If you’re overtaxed you need to tell Yakov. Tell him you need to get off the ice for a few days. Tell him  _ why _ . Don’t be stupid.  _ Promise me _ .”

Yuri hears the silent ‘ _ don’t be like me _ ’ in the undercurrent of Otabek’s tone and sighs.

“Fine.” He stands up from the corner he’s hiding in. “But promise me you’ll stop doing lunges and shit for today. You’ve barely stopped to breathe this whole call and it’s been twenty minutes.” 

Otabek rolls his eyes. “I’ve had a whole  _ month _ to breathe. I’ll be okay.” 

Yuri makes his glare more pointed. “What did you just tell me?  _ Don’t be stupid?!  _ You just got back on the ice, I can’t skate  _ at all _ if I know you’re risking being off it again. You’re too far away for me to do anything. If you were still here maybe I could focus enough to land a damn jump.”

He bites his lip again.  _ He said too much _ ; proved too much of Otabek’s constant point about ‘being a distraction.’ 

The silence that falls between them spans a solid ten seconds. Then Otabek lets out a breath Yuri couldn’t even tell he was holding.

“ _ Fine then _ .” Otabek echoes Yuri’s earlier tone. “ _ I’ll just come back. _ ” 

 

**_~Thirty-Six~_ **

 

_ “We’ll figure it out.” _

Yuri skates a circle around Otabek trying to do just that.

It’s after hours at the rink and they’re trying to practice their pair skate. Yuri insisted he didn’t need it anymore, but Otabek confessed that he does. Not only will it help strengthen his muscles, and re-find the balance in his core, but  _ apparently _ he told his coach he’s practicing it for an exhibition.

Her conditional terms for letting Otabek constantly travel back to Russia is that he comes back with a full routine in hand, ready to lay out and prove that putting her star pupil in the hands of Yakov Feltsman isn’t the mistake she apparently feels it could be.

Yuri knows, deep down, that Yakov isn’t her real concern. She’s never been the biggest fan of Otabek’s association with one of Russia’s most daring skaters.

If she could see them right now, Yuri is sure she’d set them both on fire.

Otabek digs his pick into the ice a bit too hard and causes a spray around them that draws Yuri back to the ice. 

“I can’t lift you, Yura. I’m sorry.” 

“I said we’ll figure it out.” Yuri soothes. He brings his circle closer until he can dig his own pick in without falling, and places a hand on Otabek’s shoulder. “You can’t lift me  _ today _ , but we have a few weeks. I’m sure Victor will have enough tips on how to do it without re-injuring you. God knows his knees are dust by now and he still manages to lift the piggy.”

“I hope you’re right.” 

Otabek breathes, and Yuri takes his hand to lead him back into the beginning loop. 

“ _ We got this. You’ll see. _ ”

 

**_~Thirty-Seven~_ **

 

_ “I like your laugh.”  _

Mila’s voice pours over Yuri’s shoulder, and at first he thinks it’s directed at him before she skates into view and right up to Otabek’s side. 

She has that look in her eye that she reserves only for hockey players and men old enough to be her father. Otabek is neither, and something inside Yuri’s chest feels a bit like it’s burning as his own laughter dies in his throat. He can’t sort out the change in feeling.

“What a weird way to interrupt a conversation,  _ Baba _ .” Yuri addresses her with the familiar nickname, but his tone is clipped.

Mila just shrugs, barely sparing Yuri a glance. “It was on my mind, just thought I should state it.” 

Yuri opens his mouth to snark out something worse, wondering what she’s playing at so suddenly, but his chance is stolen as Otabek’s voice breaks through the strange tension.

“I’ll take it as a compliment, Babacheva.” He addresses her impersonally and Yuri can’t help but feel so relieved. “Though I’m pretty sure you were hearing Yuri’s laugh not mine.”

“Couldn’t have been!” Mila half-snorts her insistence before schooling it to a more feminine giggle. “I’ve heard his laugh for years. Pretty sure our Yura barks like a chihuahua more than laughs like an angel.”

“You’re right,” Otabek agrees breezily.

Yuri can’t help giving out an indignant squawk even as he sees the teasing smirk form on Otabek’s lips. 

“ _ Not an angel _ ,” Otabek alters pointedly. “ _ Sounds more like bells to me. _ ”

 

**_~Thirty-Eight~_ **

_ “I made this for you.”  _

Yuri motions to the plate on the table as Otabek sidles into the kitchen. It’s nothing impressive, certainly not compared to Otabek’s breakfast pirozhkis, but it’s enough eggs to get them through practice today. 

Yuri has a feeling they’ll need it if they stay late. 

Otabek smiles as he sits down and mutters something Yuri can’t quite catch.

“Aren’t you the one always telling me not to mumble?” Yuri taunts, quirking an eyebrow and taking his own chair. “Wanna say that a bit louder?”

“Can’t talk with my mouth full,” Otabek counters, and before Yuri can point out that his mouth is empty, he shovels two large scoops of eggs off the plate and into his mouth.

Yuri smiles. “Nice try, Altin, but I want to know what you said. Spit it out.” 

“ _ Yuvdamakaoodhoseweefsumduh _ ” Otabek takes on a look of innocence as he garbles the words around the eggs in his mouth.

Yuri can’t help but laugh because he knows Otabek is just playing along. It feels simple.  _ Easy _ . A lot easier than practice in a few hours.

“Swallow first! Swallow!” 

Otabek does. Then smiles with a bit of egg still in his teeth.

“I  _ said _ ,” he pauses to lick his teeth and Yuri tracks the movement involuntarily, “ _ you’d make a good housewife someday _ .”

 

**_~Thirty-Nine~_ **

_ “Don’t cry.”  _

Yuri wakes up to the words sounding like an echo. Over and over again, and it takes a few moments for his head to clear enough for them to make sense.

“Shh.” Otabek is leaning over him, blurry in the dim light, and worry etched between his eyebrows. “Don’t cry, Yura. It’s a dream. It’s just a dream.” 

Yuri becomes aware of the wetness on his cheeks, and tries to sit up. Otabek has to move the hand he was pressing on his shoulder to allow it, but Yuri finds himself upright and gasping. 

The images from the nightmare are still floating through his consciousness, but are thankfully blurring now that he’s awake. 

“You were screaming.” Otabek’s voice is soft. “Are you okay?” 

“ _ Fuck. _ ” Yuri’s voice feels hoarse, as he tries to reply. “Did I wake you up?” 

Otabek shakes his head. 

“I was heading down the hall for water and you screamed right before I reached your room.”

Yuri lets out a small shudder, feeling small. “Sorry.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

He bites his lip, the feeling of the dream washing over him again. “ _ No. _ ”

“Is there anything I can do?”

And there  _ is _ . He could stay right where he is, but Yuri squeezes his eyes shut and makes a noncommittal noise because he doesn’t want to ask for that; doesn’t want to seem silly.

But he doesn’t have to, because Otabek is moving the covers. Raising them up and crawling under them without hesitation, and lining himself so he faces Yuri.

“Would this help?” Otabek asks lightly, voice still edging the line of too soft. “If I lie with you?” 

Yuri feels weak but he nods, hoping it doesn’t seem too frantic, then lies back himself.

It’s a lot sooner than he expects that his eyelids start drooping into sleep, but he musters enough wakefulness to whisper.

“ _ Thanks, Beka. _ ”

 

**_~Forty~_ **

 

_ “Can I kiss you?” _

Yuri feels the words come out of his mouth more than he hears them. Not that he can hear anything over the rush of blood in his ears. 

They’re on the ice, practicing the lift that Otabek still can’t seem to manage on his leg. They have to use the rink wall as support, which means Yuri has been constantly pressed between it and Otabek’s body for the past hour.

Which is more than enough time, he finds out, to sort out the random feelings that have been taking him by surprise for god knows how long now. 

The words still surprise him though, and they seem to surprise Otabek, too, if the way his arms stiffen means anything. 

To his credit he doesn’t drop the hold and Yuri stays in the air. 

“ _ What? _ ”

He doesn’t sound dismayed just confused, and Yuri swallows thickly before firmly deciding to repeat himself.

“ _ Beka _ ,” his voice wavers and he really wishes he didn’t feel so much like a kitten with its tail tucked between its legs instead of the tiger he normally portrays, “ _ can I kiss you? _ ”

Otabek’s elbows give then, and Yuri is suddenly falling, catching himself against Otabek’s chest and doing his best to keep them both upright on unsteady legs. 

“What?” Otabek repeats again, quieter this time, his eyes meeting Yuri’s and holding them. “Really?” 

“Yeah.” Yuri breathes--or doesn’t since he suddenly can’t. “Really.” 

And Otabek says nothing, just blinks for a few seconds then shifts; leaning forward in a way that’s answer enough as his lips hover right above Yuri’s cupid’s bow. 

Yuri’s lungs expand, but it still doesn’t feel like he’s getting enough air. 

He closes his eyes and waits for the moment to happen.

Three. Two. One--

“What’re you guys doing here so late?!”

They break apart, Yuri’s eyes flying open at the sound of Victor’s voice filtering across the rink. Otabek stumbles back, and Yuri reaches out to steady him, turning them both away from the wall and toward their intruder. 

The sound of Victor’s blades joining them makes Yuri feel sick, and when he looks at Otabek the other man is studiously looking away. 

_ The moment _ , Yuri thinks; heart sinking a bit in his chest,  _ is gone. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BUN DUN DUN. A nice little dab of angst because I wouldn't be named King if I weren't the King of Angst Trash.
> 
> I do believe I can safely say ya'll won't have to wait another year for the next update (I have time to write it in between zine stuff rn) But just in case you can yell at me to get off my ass at [Kingotabek](https://kingotabek.tumblr.com/faq).
> 
>  
> 
> And just for the sake of continuity here is the list of prompts for this chapter:  
> 31) “Don’t worry about me.”  
> 32) “It looks good on you.”  
> 33) “Close your eyes and hold out your hands.”  
> 34) “That’s okay, I bought two.”  
> 35) “After you.”  
> 36) “We’ll figure it out.”  
> 37) “I like your laugh.”  
> 38) “Can I kiss you?” (switched)  
> 39) “Don’t cry.”  
> 40) “I made this for you.” (Switched)

**Author's Note:**

> Here are the Quotes/Prompts for 1-10:
> 
> 1) “Pull over. Let me drive for awhile.”  
> 2) “It reminded me of you.”  
> 3) “No, no, it’s my treat.”  
> 4) “Come here. Let me fix it.”  
> 5) “I’ll walk you home.”  
> 6) “Have a good day at work.”  
> 7) “I dreamt about you last night.”  
> 8) “Take my seat.”  
> 9) “I saved a piece for you.”  
> 10) “I’m sorry for your loss.”
> 
> I kept them in order and tried not to alter them too much.  
> as always feedback is appreciated!!!!!!!!!  
> [I'm Kingotabek on tumblr](http://kingotabek.tumblr.com/) if you want to give me shout.


End file.
